All That Glitters
by vicodin-vixens
Summary: Greg House meets Greg Sanders. Plotless smut. Warning: Slash. We own nothing but an affinity for glitter.


**A/N: First of all, we must offer our sincere apologies to Wilson and Nick. This is nothing more than our own twisted desires brought to paper. We just wanted the visual.**

House rubbed his eyes blearily and wondered, again, why he'd come here.

Not to Vegas. That much he knew.

This club.

Where lights pulsated and his thigh seemed to throb in time to the music.

If you could call it music, that is.

Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out his bottle of Vicodin, and took two, followed by a bourbon chaser.

He put the pill bottle away and signalled to the waitress for another drink.

His plan was to drown his sorrows in hard liquor.

So far so good. He was feeling a pleasant buzz.

House's thoughts turned inwards as he stared out across the packed dance floor.

He had followed Wilson from New Jersey to Las Vegas.

Wilson, his best friend, had lied to him.

Told him he was lecturing at an oncology conference in Chicago for the weekend, when really he was eloping with his girlfriend, Julie.

In Vegas, of all places.

House hoped that at least Wilson managed to convince Julie to get married by an Elvis impersonator at the Graceland Wedding Chapel, but Julie probably eschewed that in favour of Chapel of the Flowers.

The bitch.

This would make Wilson's third marriage.

It was no secret that House disliked Julie from the get-go, which was probably the reason behind all Wilson's deceptiveness.

The fact that Wilson was actually marrying Julie, taking it to this level of commitment had forced House to take a long, hard look at his relationship with Wilson.

He took another sip of his drink and unwillingly admitted to himself that the reason he viewed Wilson's wedding as such a betrayal was because he really wanted Wilson to himself.

"No chance in that now." he murmured to himself.

"Were you talking to me?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

House looked up into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes rimmed in black eyeliner.

He took an opportunity to give the young man in front of him a once-over.

Hair carefully arranged in haphazard blond spikes.

A vintage t-shirt that looked as if it had been pulled from House's own closet.

The tightest pair of black leather pants that could ever be.

Chuck Taylor sneakers.

He looked up again. The guy was grinning out of the corner of his mouth.

House shook his head, "No."

Was that _glitter?_

The punk-kid cocked his head, looking vaguely disappointed.

"Oh. Well. Wanna dance?"

House couldn't help but grin. The kid's energy was effusive. He bounced on the soles of his feet and bobbed his head.

House reached to the seat beside him and raised his cane, "Can't, sorry."

Undeterred, the kid pulled out a chair.

"Mind if I sit down then?"

It _was _glitter. House was sure of it. Silver sparkles shone on the guy's face and arms.

"I'm Greg." he said, extending his hand.

"No shit." House replied, his mouth twisting.

He noticed that young Greg had two thin, black rubber bracelets entwined together on his slender wrist.

"And you are?" asked glittering Greg, that lopsided smile making an appearance once more.

"Greg. But call me House. Less confusion."

They made the usual, polite small-talk for a few minutes, and House pictured what Wilson would have to say about him picking up a stranger in a bar.

Wilson, flustered and indignant, just the way House liked him best.

Wilson alternating between putting his hands on his hips or throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

In that moment, House decided that picking up a stranger in a bar was _exactly_ what he was going to do.

They didn't call Las Vegas 'Sin City' for nothing.

"Do all crime fighters in Vegas dress like you?" House asked apprasingly.

Greg laughed.

"God, no. Grissom in leather and eyeliner?"

House didn't know who Grissom was and he didn't care.

Right now he wasn't interested in anyone who _wasn't_ wearing leather and eyeliner.

The kid looked towards the dance floor as the next song started up and told House he would be back in a minute.

House's field of vision narrowed as he watched Greg on the dance floor.

Greg put everything he had into dancing.

When he raised his arms above his head, House saw a stripe of pale, glittering skin.

Was there no place of the kid's body untouched by sparkles?

House decided it was his job to find out.

Greg moved erotically, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, swaying and rocking in time to the music.

He was obviously enjoying himself, and House shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly aware of tightness in his pants as his erection swelled.

Moments later, Greg was taking his seat again, flushed and sweaty.

House managed to snag the waitress and order another bourbon and a beer for Greg.

His blue eyes followed a bead of sweat that rolled down Greg's throat.

He had an irresistible urge to lick it.

He settled for licking his lips instead.

A gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Greg.

House watched as Greg wrapped shiny lips around the top of the beer bottle. Watched his throat work as he swallowed.

He had another thought of Wilson, in leather and eyeliner and decided it wouldn't work.

Perhaps the differences between Greg and Wilson were exactly what House needed right now.

House let his blue eyes rest on Greg's momentarily, and saw the lust mirrored there.

Sparkle-boy leaned close enough to whisper in House's ear and be heard above the raucous music.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

His warm breath caused goose-flesh to break out over House's body and he shivered when he felt the tip of Greg's tongue on his earlobe.

"My thoughts exactly." House said thickly.

He grabbed his cane and followed Greg from the club, appreciating the view from behind.

As the exited, House glanced at his watch.

11:34 p.m.

The good Doctor Wilson and his new bride were probably enjoying their after-wedding sex by now.

House smirked as he wondered how much Wilson was enjoying the wedding gift House had left for him.

Big Mouth Billy Bass.

The Original.

House had found out what hotel Wilson and Julie were staying at (amateur sleuthing there, really) and arranged for the hotel staff to have Billy waiting in their room.

Though, on hindsight, he wondered if it wouldn't have been a better idea to have it delivered to their door.

Nothing says 'congratulations' like a little coitus-interruptus.

All thoughts of Wilson, however, were banished from House's mind when Greg abruptly turned and pushed him back against the rough brick wall.

The kiss was forceful, lips and teeth smashed together in a frenzy. Their tongues met and warred briefly.

Then, just as soon, it was over.

Shimmer-guy pulled back breathlessly, resting his sweaty forehead against House's.

His eyes were dark, pupils hugely dilated, his eyeliner smudged, his lips moist.

"Where?" Greg asked hoarsely, pressing up against House, so he could feel his arousal.

Saying nothing, House turned and led Greg to his hotel, conveniently next door to the club (the main reason House had chosen to that particular bar to drink in).

They groped each other in the elevator like two horny teenagers. Kissing and rubbing and touching and gasping.

What seemed like an eternity later, the elevator doors pinged open and House limped to his room, followed eagerly by Greg, whose energy seemed to have multiplied ten-fold.

House barely had time to latch the security lock before Greg was on him again.

Using his mouth, he rubbed House's lips open once more and slid his tongue inside.

He pushed House's jacket off his shoulders, then slipped warm hands under his t-shirt and peeled that off as well, all the while grinding frantically against House's lower half.

House pulled Greg's t-shirt over his head and it joined the growing pile of discarded clothes.

His fingers grazed scar tissue on Greg's back and he looked at him inquiringly.

"My lab exploded." he offered in explanation.

So far, it seemed as if the kid's entire body _was_ covered in glitter.

House wondered when, exactly, glitter had become such a turn-on.

He slid his hands down Greg's slim hips, the feel of leather soft beneath his fingers as he pulled Greg closer.

Sparkly fingers worked quickly at House's jeans and they were pushed roughly to the floor.

Greg sank to his knees, fingertips skimming the exposed flesh.

When he reached the disfigured skin of House's thigh, brown eyes were looking up at House, the same inquiry there as when House had touched his back.

"My lab exploded," House said and the kid tilted his head in obvious disbelief, "Ok. Muscle infarction. But your story's so much better."

Greg smiled wickedly, then wrapped his hand around the base of House's cock and slowly encased it in his mouth.

As House sank into the warm wetness of Greg's mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and he immediately thought of Wilson.

Would Wilson's dimple be visible when he gave head?

House forced his eyes open, looked at Greg and tangled his hands in hair that was surprisingly soft.

Greg was an expert cock-sucker. Better than anyone House had ever paid.

Just as he thought the sensations were going to overwhelm him and he was either going to come, pass out or have his legs give way (perhaps even all three), the twinkly young man had pulled his talented mouth away and got to his feet.

He put both hands on either side of House's face again and pulled him close for a kiss.

House tasted himself, which wasn't together an unpleasant flavour, and pushed Greg in the general direction of the bed.

Grinning his infectious grin, Greg peeled off the leather pants and virtually jumped over to the bed.

They kissed some more, hands wrapped around each others leaking cocks and stroking furiously.

"Oh God." Greg moaned against House's mouth and the sound made House lurch uncontrollably.

Greg turned and bent himself over the bed, legs planted firmly apart on the floor, offering himself invitingly.

It was all the encouragement House needed.

Crudely, quickly, he stuck his fingers in his mouth to moisten them, then expertly slid them into Greg's hot, tight hole and immediately found the spot that made Greg buck back against him and groan incoherently.

House moistened his cock with his own spit and pushed eagerly inside, savouring the hotness, the tightness, the...._sparkles?_

He grabbed Greg's hips and pulled him backwards roughly against him as he thrust deeply.

House could hear Greg's muffled moaning as he slid quickly in and out, Greg making the same lunging movements against the bed.

This time, as his eyes drifted shut against the sensations, House allowed himself to think of Wilson.

He bit his lip, managed to prevent himself from calling out Wilson's name, and shuddered hard as he came in long, powerful bursts.

House flipped Greg over quickly, then lowered his head and took Greg's cock into his mouth.

Greg propped himself up on elbows and watched.

House sucked with a ferocity Greg had never known.

In mere seconds, Greg was flooding House's mouth, hands gripping fistfuls of bedsheets as he arched his back and groaned loudly.

House stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then flopped down on the bed beside Greg.

He passed out immediately.

In the morning, House awoke with the stale taste of bourbon and salt in his mouth.

His eyes felt gritty and his head pounded.

His thigh ached uncomfortably.

He was alone.

House reached for his ever-present bottle of Vicodin and considered his usual method of dry-swallowing, then realized he didn't have enough saliva to do so.

Grumbling to himself, he limped heavily to the bathroom for a glass of water.

Hand half-way under the tap, he paused and examined his wrist.

One thin black rubber bracelet.

Interesting.

A souvenir of sorts.

He took the Vicodin, then looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Brought a hand to his cheek.

Was that _glitter?_


End file.
